


Bedside Manner

by Kiraly



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Flash Fic, Fluff, M/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 21:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10447992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/pseuds/Kiraly
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky is a horrible little shit when he's sick. Otabek takes care of him anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this week's [Synchronised Screaming](https://synchronisedscreaming.tumblr.com/post/158829138135/prompt-post) flash fic challenge. 
> 
> Prompt: Otabek/Yuri P - one of them takes care of the other when sick  
> (In other words, the prompt that had my name ALL OVER IT - I just had to write it).

“I’m telling you, I DON’T need rest, I’m FINE! We should go back to practice.”

“You can’t go back to practice, Yakov told you to take the rest of the day off. And he told the staff at the rink, too, so if you try to sneak in they’ll stop you.” Otabek had to say it, even though he knew the words would do nothing to convince Yuri. They didn’t.

“Then I’ll sneak past them, too! Fuck this shit, Yakov can go—”

But what Yakov could do was lost in a fit of coughing. Yuri had to stop halfway up the stairs and lean against the wall, doubled over in a vain effort to clear his lungs. When he could breathe again, he straightened up and glared at Otabek.

“Don’t...don’t say...a word…”

Otabek raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” He waited a moment, then added, “Can you walk the rest of the way, or should I carry you?”

“Fuck  _ off,  _ Beka!”

By the time they made it to the top of the stairs though, Yuri was panting and leaning on Otabek’s shoulder. Otabek took the keys from Yuri’s shaking hands, supporting him with one hand while unlocking the door with the other. Yuri didn’t protest, and that in itself was telling.

“Bed,” Otabek said. He nudged Yuri in the right direction, in case he’d forgotten where the bedroom was. Yuri rolled his eyes and slumped against the wall to watch Otabek unlace his boots.

“You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy, Beka. Aren’t you supposed to buy me dinner first?” His chuckle turned into another coughing session.

“Yura…” Otabek sighed, shook his head. “I will make you some soup, okay? But only if you promise to lie down.”

“Sure...sure, yeah.” Yuri hobbled in the direction of the bedroom, and Otabek turned to the kitchen.

There was something soothing about the process of preparing food: the repetitive motion of knife against cutting board, the hiss and crackle of oil and vegetables on hot metal, the savory scent that filled the air as raw ingredients became a meal. It eased the tension in Otabek’s chest, the worry that clung to him like Yuri’s lingering illness. It was hard to see someone like Yuri, usually so fierce and full of life, laid low by something like a cold. Especially because he refused to take care of himself, kept pushing until his body gave out. He’d collapsed at the rink during practice. Even then, he’d tried to argue that he was fit to skate.

Well. If Yuri wouldn’t take care of himself, it was up to Otabek.

When the soup was simmering its way to completion, Otabek went to check on Yuri. He didn’t have far to go.

“Yura,” he said, letting some exasperation seep into his voice, “I thought you were going to  _ bed.”  _

Yuri blinked at him from the couch. “You said...to rest. ‘M fucking resting.”

Otabek rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’re  _ doing a split  _ on the couch. That does not count as resting, Yuri.” He crossed the room and reached for Yuri’s hands. “Please. Go to bed.”

Yuri allowed himself to be helped out of the split, but he balked at any further movement. “Bekaaaa. I don’t want to go. I should be...I should…” He slumped against Otabek, buried his face in his shoulder. Although he was taller than when they’d first met, Otabek could still fit his arms around him easily. And lift him, as it turned out. “Beka, what…?” That was all Yuri had time for, because Otabek hoisted him up and carried him to the bedroom.

“My Yura. So stubborn.” They reached the bed, and Yuri made a noise like an angry cat when Otabek propped him up on the pillows and made to leave.

“Where do you think you’re going, asshole?” He dug his fingers into Otabek’s sleeves, pulling him closer. “If I have to stay in bed, you’re staying with me.”

“But the soup—”

“Fuck soup.” Yuri’s cheeks burned with fever, but his eyes held a glint of their usual ferocity. “I know what will make me feel better.” He tugged again, and this time Otabek sank onto the bed next to him. Yuri wasted no time in crawling onto his lap. With a sigh, he tucked his head under Otabek’s chin. “There. I’ll be...just fine...in no time.”

“You’ll wake up hungry,” Otabek warned, but he was already pulling the blankets over them both. Yuri fit into the circle of his arms like he’d always been there.

“Then you can get me some of that soup.” 

“You’ll get a stiff neck.” Yuri’s hair tickled his cheek, and Otabek pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Then you can massage it for me.”

Otabek laughed, and held Yuri closer. “You’re impossible.”

“You love me.” 

“Well, yes.” And then, because Otabek was an honest man, “Even if you are completely awful when you’re sick.” 


End file.
